Avast Ye!
by Louiseifer
Summary: What do pirates do with all that treasure they loot? You don't know? Neither do they...(Really loose parody with none of the actual TI characters, but fun nevertheless.)
1. The Chandon

Avast Ye!  
  
By Queen Smithy  
  
Summary: Richie Moon, world's silliest pirate, and his crew try to figure out what to do with all the money they've looted over the years. . .  
  
Rating: not for land lubbers! Yarr!  
  
Dedication: To none other than the *real* Richie Moon and Sam Sweeney. And, of course, Novek Dace.  
  
Feedback: NOW, dammit!  
  
***  
  
A slight breeze rippled the surface of the sea. Through it clipped a small galleon flying the jolly roger. There was a man in the crow's nest, staring out through a pair of toilet roll tubes sellotaped together.  
  
"Laaaaaaaand ahoy!" he yelled.  
  
A gruff voice from the deck called up, "Peters! That's the land we've just left! Again!"  
  
***  
  
"Righ'," said Richie Moon, addressing the crew of his galleon, the Chandon. The first mate, Philip Trent, removed his finger from his nose, and one or two others looked up. They were in the galley, domain of the cabin boys and the first mate, who also happened to be the barman.  
  
"Righ'," said Richie again. "Here's wha' we're gonna do. What' we're gonna do is. . . " he paused. "Where's Jimbo?"  
  
"Here, Rich," called a voice from under the bar. "And my name's not Jim. . ."  
  
"Right ye are, Jimbo, lad."  
  
"My name's Sam."  
  
"Yes, lad, but every pirate cabin boy is called Jim."  
  
"Cabin boy my bum," said the voice behind the bar. There was a clunk, then a blond ponytail-ed head appeared. "I've unclogged your rum hose. Anything else need doing?"  
  
"Nah, jus' pour me a glass and come and sit down," said Richie. "I've lost my train o' thought now. . ."  
  
Sam, who knew that Richie's train of thought was more like a rusty bicycle with a tyre missing, rolled his eyes. He poured two glasses of rum (so he wouldn't have to get up again for at least five minutes) and found a spare seat near Richie. The big pirate sipped thoughtfully at the first glass of rum. His brow was painfully wrinkled.  
  
"Where was I. . . ?"  
  
"What we're gonna do. . . " Harvey Peters, the lookout, prompted.  
  
"Oh yeh. Well. I were thinking - "  
  
"Oh dear, that's dangerous," said Brackish, the bosun.  
  
"Shush," grumbled Richie. "I were thinkin' abou' all this treasure what we've looted over the years." He paused again. Sam could see his thoughts trundling into place behind his heavy brow. "Well," he continued, "Wha' we gonna do with it all?"  
  
A long silence fell over the assembled pirates. Finally, a burly, bearded and tattooed man raised a hand. This man liked to be known as Slasher the Snake, but Richie was no good at remembering things which had just happened, never mind made-up nicknames, so he generally used his proper name, much to the Snake's embarrassment and everyone else's amusement. Nicknames were a bit of an issue on the Chandon. Sam had been a destined "Jimlad" since Richie had found him in the shabby Emerald Bar and taken him under his wing. The other pirates were extremely envious of his ability to maintain a pseudonym, even if it was an involuntary one. The only other member of the crew with a permanent nickname was Off-Centre Steve, the Helmsman. Sam had - very cautiously - asked around and discovered that the origin of Off-Centre's nickname was unknown by everyone on the ship.  
  
"Yes, Clive?" said Richie.  
  
Snake lowered his hand. "Spend it," he said.  
  
"Even we'll never spend tha' much money," said Rich. "We've got to decide wha' ter do with the rest o' it."  
  
"Er," said Sam, "we could give it to charity?"  
  
"Oh, yeh?" said Rich. "Who's she, then? Some posh bint friend o' yours, Jimbo?"  
  
"No, I mean we could give it to people who need it."  
  
"Don't sound like a very pirate-ish thing to me," said Snake, as Richie tried to engage his mind in thought once more. "Sounds like something them land lubbers might do."  
  
"There's probably people who need money at sea too," said Sam. It was blatent that Sam was the quickest thinker on the ship. There was a long silence before anyone else spoke.  
  
"Yeah," said Harvey Peters eventually. "Us. That's why we looted it all in the first place."  
  
"There you go, lad!" said Richie. "And thass why yer no' allowed ter be a fully-feathered pirate."  
  
"Fully-fledged," said Sam quietly.  
  
"I said tha'," said Rich. "Any other ideas?"  
  
Brackish the bosun raised a hand. "I like the Snake's idea," he said.  
  
"What snake?"  
  
"I mean Clive," said Brackish, with a snigger.  
  
"I *said*" growled Richie, "there's too much o' it!"  
  
Brackish grinned. "Then let's think about what to do with what's left over while we spend it."  
  
"Good plan!" said Richie. "Yarr!"  
  
***  
  
The Chandon turned in its course, and headed towards the Spanish main.  
  
"DAMMIT, Off-Centre!" yelled a gruff voice. "We're going to England!"  
  
The Chandon turned round once again, and they headed for home.  
  
To be continued. . . ? 


	2. Dry Land! AARGH!

Avast Ye!  
  
Chapter 2  
  
By Queen Smithy  
  
Summary: Richie and his crew try to cope with life on dry land, and Sam finds a bloke with a handy deserted, sandy island, complete with pre- assembled 'X'. . .  
  
Dedication: To the aptly named Kloob Isotope, because it'll get people thinking.  
  
Feedback: I can't heeear you!  
  
***  
  
The pirates huddled together in fear. The gangplank creaked dangerously under them. Harvey Peters was muttering quietly to himself, and his eyes were wide. Off-Centre was standing on his own in a suspicious puddle, chewing his nails nervously. Richie let out a sudden whimper and clung to Sam's arm.  
  
"Ow! Get off me, will you?" Sam tried to yank his arm away, but Richie just tightened his grip. "I don't see what your all so afraid of!" the ponytailed one snapped, "a great big bunch of pirates like you! Richie, you're seven feet tall and built like a mountain! There's nothing in the *world* that'd even think about hurting you. Get OFF me!"  
  
Richie (who, in fact, was scared of two things and one of them was Sam's temper) reluctantly let go of his friend's arm. Sam tried to rub some life back into the limb, and Richie's knees started knocking together.  
  
"It's so . . . *dry*. . ." whispered Philip Trent, who's mouth had been hanging open for the past five minutes. Richie moaned loudly and ran back onto the ship, Sam hot at his heels.  
  
"Come back, you great lump!" the cabin boy scolded the pirate captain. "What sort of an example do you think you're setting your crew, eh? STOP RIGHT THERE!"  
  
Richie skidded to a halt, and turned to stare sheepishly at Sam. ". . . 'orry. . ." he offered.  
  
Sam planted his hands on his hips and turned his glare up to maximum. Richie withered. He trudged back the way they had come, towards the huddle of trembling pirates. Before he reached them, something black and white danced across the deck and leaped onto Richie's shoulder. "Pieces of four!" it announced. Richie gave it a tickle. Then he addressed the crew.  
  
"Right, you 'orrible lot," he croaked. "We're gonna do it. We're going. . . On dry land."  
  
Off-Centre let out a small gasp, then fainted.  
  
Richie's face fell. "What do I do now?"  
  
Sam pulled a collapsible step-ladder out of his coat pocket and clambered up it until he could whisper in Richie's ear. Richie nodded, then walked purposefully over to Off-Centre and kicked him sharply. "Get up!" he screeched. "NOW, you miserable little rat, or I'll see to it you're keelhauled every day for the next MONTH!"  
  
"Nicely done," said Sam, folding up his stepladder again.  
  
***  
  
It took a while to persuade the pirates that dry land was okay to walk on. They were used to their old faith in wood. If there was wood underfoot, you were fine. Water underfoot was bad. Sharks was even worse. But earth. . . this was something new. Sam had been with them for a few years and discovered that even his knees buckled slightly when he set foot on the unfamiliarly stable terrain.  
  
"Alrigh', lads," said Richie, who had been ashore more often than the others. Sam had been quite relieved to discover that, once Richie had taken that first step, the second, third, and all subsequent steps proved to be little problem. "What do we want to do first?"  
  
Peters, Philip Trent and Off-Centre were holding each other up, but all three of them barked at the same time, "Ale!" Richie beamed at them.  
  
"Thass my boys," he said proudly.  
  
"How much money did you bring, Rich?" asked Brackish the bosun. Sam had been very impressed with Brackish. This lean-faced pirate had taken a deep breath and stepped confidently out onto the cobbles of London. He hadn't even whimpered.  
  
Richie peered into his money pouch. "Five nineteens and a five gold pieces," he said.  
  
"One hundred," said Sam promptly.  
  
"Yea. Tha'."  
  
It hadn't taken Sam long to get used to Richie's counting method. The big pirate could count to nineteen, using his fingers and toes. The first time Brackish had explained this to him, Sam had been horrified. "How'd Rich loose a finger?" he'd asked. Once Brackish had finished laughing at him, he explained that Richie still had all his fingers, he just needed his left index finger to point at the others with. If you cut this finger off, he wouldn't be able to count at all. Sam had gone away and thoroughly revised his nineteen times tables. He dreaded to think what happened to Richie's counting technique once he got past three hundred and sixty one.  
  
"Okay," said Richie, "let's go an' get sloshed!"  
  
As they worked their way towards the nearest tavern, something alighted upon Sam's shoulder. "Pieces of two," it told him.  
  
"Bugger off, Gul," Sam murmured, trying to dislodge the creature from his shoulder.  
  
"Bugger off, Gul! Bugger off, Gul!" Chirruped the thing, which was black with white stripes and a huge, bushy tail. It beamed at Sam, then pulled at the string which held Sam's hair back. It snapped, and Gul stuffed it into his mouth.  
  
"Hungry?" Sam asked. Gul nodded vigorously. "Let's go and find some pie, then."  
  
Richie spun round and glared at Sam. "You can't have pies, they make you poofly," he said firmly.  
  
Sam sighed. "For the last time, pies have nothing to do with being poofly!"  
  
"Do."  
  
"Don't."  
  
"Do."  
  
"They don't!"  
  
"Anyway, what're yeh doing with my parrot on your shoulder? Yer not a pirate."  
  
Gul made chattering noises and began to stuff Sam's hair into his mouth. Sam rolled his eyes. "Rich, I'm pretty sure Gul isn't a parrot."  
  
"O'course he's a parrot. What else could he be?"  
  
". . . A skunk?"  
  
"Nah, don't be stupid. Skunks is black and white and fluffy and have huge great hairy tails."  
  
"Yeah," said Sam. "How silly of me. We're going to find something to eat, see you later."  
  
***  
  
The pirates found a pub. It was small and grubby, but it sold alcohol and that was the main thing. Rich, master of the art of quaffing, had already slurped through three tankards of ale and was starting to grin far too much for someone who's going to have to steer the ship home tonight. Peters and Trent were singing sea shanties at the tops of their lungs, and the rest of the crew were pestering the regular customers with questions like "so this dry land stuff. . . does it stay dry in winter? What if it rains? Is it still dry land then?"  
  
"See?" said Richie to Brackish and Off-Centre. "This ain't so bad." He slurped his ale. "'Snot quite rum, but it's certainly somethin'!"  
  
"Yeah," said Brackish doubtfully, peering into his own mug. "There's certainly somethin' swimming about in mine. . ."  
  
"Lemme see." Richie snatched Brackish's mug and threw the contents down his throat. Then he chewed thoughtfully. "Ah," he said. "Cockroach. I'm gonna complain. I didn't get one of those."  
  
"Get me another drink, too," said Brackish sulkily. He normally would have thumped someone who'd drunk his ale, but you didn't thump Richie unless you were *really* confident that your guardian angel would immediately swoop down from Heaven and carry you safely away. Richie's punch was like being hit by a piano swinging on a rope. There was no avoiding it, it was going to kill you, and it was as single minded as a sledgehammer.  
  
"Yarr," said Richie.  
  
The innkeeper put down the glass he had been drying and turned to his wife.  
  
"It's been a while since we had sailors here."  
  
"Yes, dear," said his wife. "I don't think they're sailors though, dear."  
  
The innkeeper frowned. "What are they, then?"  
  
"Pirates. That big one with the huge nose just said 'yarr'."  
  
"Ahoy, mateys," said Richie, leaning heavily on the bar. "Or however you land-dwelling types greet each other. . ." He beamed at the innkeeper and his wife. He tipped his hat. "Ahoy, wench."  
  
"Don't you talk to my wife like that," snapped the innkeeper. "What's your problem?"  
  
Richie scratched his ear. "I didn't get a cockroach in my ale," he said. "And my friend over there seem to 'ave finished his rather quick like, so I reckons it weren't a whole pint."  
  
"Are you accusing me of cheating my customers?" Growled the innkeeper.  
  
Richie did the mental equations. "Yup!" he said proudly.  
  
The bar fell silent. The regulars, who had experience with the innkeeper, knew it wasn't a good idea to annoy him. The pirates, who had experience with Richie, knew it wasn't a good idea to annoy *him*. Now everyone was extremely anxious to find out what happened next.  
  
"Get out," growled the innkeeper.  
  
Richie scowled, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. "But -" he began. Brackish grabbed him by the arm, and Trent appeared on his other side.  
  
"Time to go, cap'n!" said the first mate mock-cheerfully, forcing a grin.  
  
"But I didn't get my cockroach!" Richie wailed.  
  
"Let's go and find Sam. . .Wasn't he looking for food? Mmm, I'm starving now. . . Bet there's plenty of nice crunchy cockroaches in the local delicatessen. . . "  
  
"HEY!" yelled a voice from the crowd. "My brother owns that deli!"  
  
About three seconds later, someone threw the first stool.  
  
***  
  
"What the hell is this? A cockroach burger?" Sam stared at his sandwich in disgust.  
  
The big greasy man behind the counter, who's name would turn out to be Dave, grunted. "FRESH cockroach," he growled.  
  
Sam mumbled something to himself and began to pick the sandwich apart. Gul scampered down his arm and pattered along the counter, pausing only to steal a tomato from the next man along.  
  
"Oi!" the man yelled. "Come back here, rat!"  
  
Gul skidded to a halt at the end of the counter and stared defiance at the man. He held the tomato up in one paw, offering it out to the man, who reached towards it. Gul tossed it into the air and caught it in his mouth. He swallowed it whole.  
  
The man turned to glare at Sam. "Is that your rat?" he snarled.  
  
"Nope. And it's not a rat."  
  
"What the hell is it, then?"  
  
"A parrot."  
  
The man snorted. "That's no parrot! Don't you talk to me about sodding parrots. . .I've met enough pirates, I know a parrot when I see one."  
  
"Yes, well," said Sam. "You'd think the pirates would know them too. But no one thought to show them a picture of a parrot, did they?" He tried to see things from a Richie point of view. "Small thing which sits on your shoulder and repeats whatever you say. Parrot. Well, that's what Gul does. Therefore he's a parrot."  
  
"Parrot," said Gul, scampering back onto Sam's shoulder again.  
  
"Where'd you get it?" asked the stranger, suddenly interested.  
  
"None of your business," said Sam shortly. He was in no mood for small talk. The stranger, however, was.  
  
"You seem to know lots about pirates."  
  
"I don't want to talk about pirates."  
  
"Ha!" the man stuck out a hand. "My name's Jim."  
  
"Ha!" said Sam. "My name's Sam. But you wouldn't think it."  
  
"So do you know any pirates?"  
  
"What if I do?"  
  
"I'm in the desert island business," said Jim. "Except it's going a bit slow at the moment. There's just no demand for deserted islands with pre- arranged X-marks-the-spot and stupidly dense jungle any more." Jim sighed and stared into his glass. "What we do is, offer premium sites for the burial of pirate treasure hoards, for a small but significant percentage, guarunteed un-findable for one hundred years. . ."  
  
"Hold on," Sam interrupted. "Pre-arranged X-marks-the-spot? What's that?"  
  
"Oh, it's so people can find the treasure in the future. No point in burying it if it isn't going to be found, is there? We even provide the map. But there's no business any more. . . I've no idea why." He looked incredibly glum, and Sam couldn't stop himself patting the island-rental man on the shoulder.  
  
"I think I might be able to help you here," he said. . .  
  
To be continued. . . ?  
  
***  
  
WIF: Totally forgot to mention in the first chapter that Harvey Peters and Philip Trent belong to Yum Yum Yogurt's Fisherboy Freelance cartoon. He kindly let me borrow them because I'm too lazy to make up my own crew. "The Fisherboy" can be found at   
  
Richie Moon and Sam Sweeney are creations of Dace and Smithy inc. and are © so you can't use them without our permission. For those of you nuts enough to *want* this permission, contact Smithy161@aol.com or Novek_Dace@hotmail.com but expect no sympathy if Sam and Richie ruin your lives.  
  
Gulerod is my literature muse, and you wouldn't want to borrow him anyway. He's a skunk, for Christ's sake. 


	3. One desert island, Preplaced 'X'

Avast Ye!  
  
Chapter 3  
  
By. . . The same person who wrote the other chapters, duh.  
  
Summary: Richie and the crew try to understand what the hell Sam's new- found pal, Jim, is trying to sell them.  
  
Dedication: To. . . CLOGSY! Because she rules!  
  
***  
  
Sam and Jim ambled along the cobbled street. It was getting late, and Sam knew it could only be a matter of time before Richie and his crew were thrown forcibly out of town. Gul trotted along at his ankles, occasionally garbling utter nonsense along the lines of "Pieces of arr Jimlad!" or "Yo ho ho and a bottle of scurvy seadog!"  
  
"Don't forget I'm trusting you here," said Sam casually.  
  
"I know," said Jim. "I need this."  
  
"My best bud cleans his teeth with a cutlass," said Sam, nodding at a passer-by. "You don't want to even think about swindling him."  
  
"So you said." Jim's eyes widened slightly as Gul ran onto his shoulder. "Um, is this thing dangerous?"  
  
They stopped by the dock and sat on a wall to await Richie and his crew. Gul did a little dance on Jim's shoulder.  
  
"Oh yeah!" said Sam. "It'll tear your throat right out. Gul's vicious as a . . . very vicious thing! You should see its teeth. Huge great gnashing teeth!" Sam gnashed his teeth accordingly. Jim snorted. "And that's nothing compared to its claws!" Sam added. "More like talons, I'd say. They'd rip your heart right out!"  
  
"I found a penny," said Gul proudly, holding it up to show Jim.  
  
"I can see just how dangerous this thing is," said Jim, rolling his eyes. Gul beamed at him and ate one of his shirt buttons.  
  
Sam sighed and leaned backwards. He was rather enjoying being on dry land for once. For the first time in years he didn't feel seasick. Jim wasn't the most stimulating of company, but he hadn't run screaming from Gul yet. Whether he would run screaming from Richie was another matter. A small smile crept over Sam's face. That was the ultimate test of character; trying to negotiate a business deal with the world's most clueless pirate.  
  
"How many bars are there in this town?" Sam asked, after a while.  
  
"Four," said Jim. "There were seven once, but they keep getting burned down by marauding seamen."  
  
Sam sniffed the air. "I think you're down to three."  
  
Jim sniffed also. "I think when your friends get back, we should get out of here pretty quickly. . ."  
  
There was the sound of thundering footsteps. Sam leaped to his feet and scampered up the gangplank of the Chandon. Jim trotted along after him.  
  
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.  
  
"Nothing whatsoever," said Sam. He had watched the sailors in action and knew exactly how to get the ship ready for quick flight. Had you asked him, however, he could never have explained it all to you. There's something about all the ropes, pulleys and more ropes which make up the workings of a galleon which never fail to defy words. Jim watched with fascination, Gul still perched on his shoulder, now nibbling happily at what appeared to be a cobblestone.  
  
"Amazing," said Jim, when Sam had finished tweaking ropes and had alighted down from the rigging. "You make that look so unbelievably complicated."  
  
"Shut up," said Sam, "and grab hold of something."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"There's a strong tide round here. D'you want to end up in the sea?"  
  
Richie came trotting up the gangplank and grinned happily at Sam. "Y'know, I weren't expecting this to be that much fun." He beamed at the others, who were just behind him. "Right, guys?"  
  
Peters brushed some soot from his shoulder. "Yeah, Rich. Great fun. Let's get this tub out of here, eh?"  
  
Brackish had, meanwhile, caught sight of Jim. The big bosun advanced on him, glaring. "Who're you?" he grunted.  
  
Richie turned round too. He was still wearing a huge grin, which froze when he saw the stranger standing in the middle of his ship.  
  
"This is Jim," said Sam, as his newfound friend shied away from Rich. "He's the answer to your problem."  
  
"Wha' problem?" said Rich, as Gul bounced onto his shoulder. "We haven't got any problems."  
  
"About all that money you've got."  
  
Richie snorted, advancing on Jim, who did his best to stand his ground. "Ye've not been to sea before, have yeh?" he grunted.  
  
"Yes, I have," said Jim.  
  
"Okay, yeh've never been to sea without throwin' up an' cryin' like a baby, have ye?"  
  
"Um, no."  
  
Rich turned to Sam. "What've I told yeh about bringing yer poofly little friends on my ship? He's got a spine made of. . ." Richie's brow furrowed as he pushed his way through complex linguistic territory. "something weak an' wobbly, I tell yeh!"  
  
"Jelly?" Sam suggested weakly.  
  
"Yeh, right!" Richie glared at Jim again. "Get outta here!"  
  
"No, just wait," said Sam calmly. "Listen to his offer. It's pretty good. And you won't have a single penny left over afterwards."  
  
Richie scowled again. His head was beginning to hurt. He stared at Sam for a moment. Arguing with Sam was almost impossible. Hitting Sam was impossible too, because Richie always went away with the feeling that he'd hit a girl and that was immoral. And besides, whenever he couldn't get his own way, Sam resorted to the puppy-dog eyes and patented lower-lip wobble. It was amazing the power a small, skinny person with fluffy blond hair could have over a seven-foot tall cutlass-wielding, strong-as-a-bull pirate. Especially when he whimpered in that sickeningly pathetic way which Sam had perfected over the years.  
  
"Saaaaaam!" Richie's face fell as he realised he'd lost for now. "Alright, we'll hear 'im out."  
  
Jim failed to look relieved. In fact, he looked more terrified than before. Sam patted him on the shoulder again, as they wandered down to the galley. Sam didn't like being on deck when they were heading for open sea. The sea- sickness was a more or less permanent thing, but it helped if he couldn't see the rocking waves and the wheeling seagulls. There was something comforting about the ship's kitchen and its occupants which helped ease his stomach.  
  
"Don't worry. This deal will go through, I'll see to it," he said to Jim. "Once they've stashed all their cash, they might think about settling down on dry land. I want this as much as you do."  
  
Jim snorted. They were sitting at one of the long tables in the galley, at the opposite end from a couple of genuine cabin boys and the ship's cook. Sam had found some food and made a vague attempt at cooking it.  
  
"You have no idea," Jim sighed. "Y'know what this business is? This business is just a handy place to stash failed bankers."  
  
"How come you failed?"  
  
"I, er, had a few bad habits. . . Nothing serious." Jim cleared his throat nervously and fiddled with his tie. "I really ought to explain things a bit better. . ."  
  
"Save it for the pirates," sighed Sam. "It's nothing to do with me."  
  
"How'd you end up here?"  
  
"A series of unfortunate events. Richie and I look out for each other. Well, he thinks I need someone to keep me out of trouble, and he needs someone to translate his counting method. I'd rather have my feet on the ground, but . . ." he shrugged. "You get used to these guys. I'd be lost if I just left."  
  
"How much cash have they got?" asked Jim.  
  
"Is that all you think about?"  
  
"Pretty much."  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. "A couple of million, I think," he admitted quietly. "They don't understand just how much that is, of course. They just loot and loot and stash it all in stupid great trunks." He gestured at the door into the next room. "It's all in there. You wouldn't believe it if you saw it. . ." He stopped. He'd caught sight of something flicker in Jim's eye, just for a second. He decided to say nothing else about the money, and searched for an alternative topic.  
  
"D'you like pie?"  
  
***  
  
"Righ'. . ." said Richie after the proposal had been explained to him. "All tha' happens is, the treasure all gets buried on some sandy old island somewhere?"  
  
"Yep," said Jim.  
  
"An' then. . .we gets a map. . .An'. . . Our descendents get to dig up the treasure an' . . . then wha'?"  
  
"Well, over the years, interest builds up," said Jim.  
  
"You mean," said Brackish, making a sincere effort, "that if we burries, or lends ye, a given amount of gold doubloons, then after a set period of time, the amount of doubloons will have increased by a set percentage in accordance with inflation -"  
  
"Nah," said Jim, "I mean every damn bugger will want to go and dig it up."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Wha's so great about tha'?" grunted Richie.  
  
"No idea, but the punters seem to love it. Or they did. . ."  
  
The pirates went into a huddle to talk about it. Jim sat back in his chair and prayed. One deal, just one deal, and he was home and dry.  
  
The pirates finished their discussion, having decided that it was Peters' turn to cook dinner.  
  
"Ok," said Rich. "We've got a deal." He shook Jim's hand.  
  
"Ow!" said Jim.  
  
***  
  
Night fell. The sea lay still and silent. Two figures lounged on deck, gazing upwards at the clear sky.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
Sam blinked at the unfamiliar sound of his own name. "Yus, Rich?"  
  
"What're stars made of?"  
  
"Um. . .those plastic bits at the ends of shoelaces."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Probably"  
  
"Ah"  
  
"Well. . . It would be funny if they were. . . " Sam shrugged.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
"Yus, Rich?"  
  
"D'you trust tha' Jim guy?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. I think so, Rich."  
  
There was silence for a moment. Then. . .  
  
"Sam?"  
  
"Yus, Rich?"  
  
"Y'see that group of stars over there?" Richie pointed upwards.  
  
"What about them?"  
  
"Well. . . If you really squint at them. . . I mean really squint . . . Then they look just like a man being eaten by a rabbit."  
  
Sam squinted. "You know," he said, "I believe you're right."  
  
***  
  
To Be Continued. . . ? 


	4. What Sam saw from the apple sack

Avast Ye!  
  
Chapter 4  
  
By the lady with the silver nose. I mean Queen Smithy. Yeh.  
  
Summary: What Sam saw from the apple sack.  
  
Dedication: to my socks  
  
***  
  
Spending a night on the Chandon was an interesting experience. It would all start when Richie began yawning. Then gradually, everyone put an end to their daily tasks and retired to the Galley. Nobody said anything much until Richie joined them - invariably carrying a barrel of ale, and several bottles of rum in his pockets. Sam usually dragged himself off to bed before he got too drunk, but on this evening, for some reason, he was in party spirits. He could feel that his adventures at sea were pretty much over, and this comforted him to no end.  
  
"What's the matter with you?" Richie asked, raising his eyebrows at Sam, who had managed to acquire a bottle of rum for himself.  
  
"Nothing at all!" Sam said happily. "I've never felt better. You don't know how good it felt to be on land again, old thing! Beautiful, solid land!"  
  
"Tha' land lubber's had a bad influence on ye," Richie grunted. "Either tha' of yeh've been at the pies again."  
  
"Oh shutup," slurred Sam, waving his bottle vaguely in Richie's direction. "Y'know what your problem is? You know what you prob'em is, Richie? You've gotta great big nose, y'know that? It's as big as a huge great. . . nose. . ."  
  
Richie blinked as Sam tried to poke his nose and totally missed, instead falling clean off his chair and sprawling in the apple sack in the corner, where he began to snore. Richie rolled his eyes.  
  
"Kids these days," he muttered. "Can't hol' their drink." He picked up his pint mug, which was full to the brim of rum, and sipped it carefully so as not to spill a single drop.  
  
"Nicely done," said Peters approvingly.  
  
***  
  
Elsewhere, Jim was trying to talk to a seagull, via Gulerod. This wasn't going too well, for various reasons.  
  
"Ok," said Jim to the parrot-skunk. "I need you to tell. . . What did you say your name was?" he glanced up at the seagull, which was perched in the rigging.  
  
"Awwk," it said.  
  
"Ok." Jim turned back to Gul. "Tell mister Awwk that I need him to take a message to someone in England."  
  
Gul beamed at Jim and looked up at the seagull. He chattered insanely for a moment.  
  
"Awwwwk! Ark ark ark!" said the seagull.  
  
"He say 'sod you, pigdog,'" said Gul happily.  
  
"Tell him there's a fish in it for him."  
  
"Awwwwk! Ark ark ark!" said the bird again, once Gul had translated this.  
  
"Ok, a fish every day for a week? Two fish?"  
  
Mister Awwk put his head on one side. "Awk awwwk ark ark awwk," he said.  
  
Gul grinned. "He say 'you not understand him, he no carrier pigeon.'"  
  
"I'm only asking this one little favour!" Jim protested. "And I'll pay whatever you like. It's urgent!"  
  
Gul translated, and mister Awwk put his head on the other side. Eventually he said "Awk."  
  
"He say 'okay, just once, but the price is going to be six fish twice daily, he got family to feed and it not easy this time of year, and two fish must be herring cause his old lady likes herring,' and he wants to be allowed prime choice of scraps from the kitchen too. He say all that."  
  
"He did?" said Jim. "Fine, fine. Whatever. Just come back to this ship at 5 O'clock tomorrow morning, ok?"  
  
"Awk awwwwk arrkle awk?"  
  
"He say, 'what this 5 clocks?'"  
  
"Ok, sorry, at sunrise, then."  
  
"Awk."  
  
"And deliver the letter to mister Gold in Portsmouth."  
  
"Awk."  
  
The seagull flapped off again, and Gul looked extremely proud of himself.  
  
"I was useful, yes?" he said, scurrying up Jim's arm.  
  
"Yes, Gul, you were useful," said Jim. "And you'll have a radish for your usefulness. But if you can be even more useful, you can have *two* radishes."  
  
"I be more useful!" said Gul, nodding his head.  
  
"Ok. All you have to do, is not mention this to anyone."  
  
"Not mention to anyone," said Gul, nodding madly.  
  
"No one at all. Not even Richie or Sam. Ok?"  
  
"Not Richie or Sam. Gotcha."  
  
"And you most certainly won't mention the name of the person I'm corresponding with, will you?"  
  
"Nonono."  
  
"That's the important bit."  
  
"Important bit. Yep!"  
  
"Good skunk."  
  
"What are a skunk?"  
  
"Good parrot, then."  
  
***  
  
It was still dark when Sam woke up. He lay very still for a moment, waiting for the hangover to hit him. When it didn't, he made a vague effort to get up, but merely rolled about on top of the apples. With a sigh, he flopped back again and tried to get some more sleep, but a small chink of light kept catching his eye. Curiosity got the better of him, and he rolled onto his front and applied his eye to the crack in the wood through which the light was coming.  
  
On the other side was one of the cabins. Sam's crack in the wood was about half way up the wall, so he commanded quite a good view of the corner of the room facing him. What he could see was this: A desk with a couple of candles on (the obvious source of the light), and a man seated behind it with his head bent down in the effort of writing. From the clean-ness and neat parting of the hair, Sam could tell it was Jim. He was writing quickly, pausing only to re-ink his quill. When he moved for this purpose, Sam could catch snatches of his writing, but only briefly and upside-down. "Dear mister Gold" was the top line. He also read "apologies for the lateness of my reply," "the deal seems set thanks to Sam, who has proved useful" and "the captain appears to be of little intelligence." These last two made Sam shiver. Useful? How had he been useful except in the way he already knew? And why talk that way of Richie? There was no malice in the words, but he didn't like them. Was this how these people always spoke of their clients?  
  
Grumbling under his breath, Sam hauled himself out of the apple sack. The pirates wouldn't wake up for an hour or so, and neither would he normally, but he couldn't just lie there any more. Something had to be done. He had to find out the rest of the contents of Jim's letter.  
  
Stumbling, he made his way down to Jim's cabin and stared at the door. What could he do now? Knock? Then Jim would surely hide the letter before Sam entered, if there was anything incriminating in it. Just walk in? That would make his suspicion too obvious. He couldn't stand there forever more, although it seemed like he would until Jim solved his problem by opening his door. The dark-haired man blinked in surprise, then gave Sam a cheerful smile.  
  
"You're up early," Sam commented.  
  
Jim stared at him. "Yet you expected me to be, seeing as you're here."  
  
Damn. Sam cursed his still drink-and-sleep fuzzed brain. "Um," he said. He tried to peer past Jim into the room. No paper on the desk, but there was a stick of half-melted red wax and a half a potato, carefully carved to show what looked like an otter or a sea lion, but his sense of humour told Sam it was supposed to be a seal. He cursed silently again. No hope of reading the letter without being noticed now.  
  
"Just. . . Wondered if you wanted breakfast," he improvised. "Thought I'd make myself useful," he added quietly.  
  
"Ah, that's be just the thing!" said Jim, beaming. "I'm half-starved. Why don't you run along to the galley and I'll join you there?"  
  
Sam watched Jim make his way to the main deck. He could ask where he was going, but, should Jim have anything to hide, he would lie. It was obvious and annoying. However, Jim seemed to sense the other watching him. He turned round. "Just got a letter to post," he said, smiling as he slipped the folded and sealed paper from his pocket and waved it tauntingly (it seemed) under Sam's nose. With a small grunt, Sam pushed past him and headed for the galley.  
  
***  
  
To Be Continued. . . ? 


End file.
